


Under Any Circumstances

by nanchoparty



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, M/M, Multiple Perspectives, POV Second Person, Romance, Stabdads, non-sburb AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanchoparty/pseuds/nanchoparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the son of an ex-mobster who has neglectful tendencies, prone to bouts of depression, too intelligent for your own good, and being in love with your best friend is hard. Having said best friend reject you and then ignore you for days on end is hard. Having said best friend move in with you and your father is hard. And learning how to love your brash, hot-headed best friend is the hardest thing of all. But you think you'll manage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dragon Taming

**> Be Karkat.**

Today is the day that your whole life will come crashing down around you.

It's the day you have been dreading ever since the moment it began.

Doomsday.

The apocalypse.

You have known it from the moment you woke up this morning, from the way the air felt heavy and the whole world felt cold.

So cold.

It only made sense to wear another jacket over your worn and dirtied favorite grey hoodie, the way a medieval soldier might wear another layer of chain mail to protect from the claws of a ferocious dragon.

Because, after all, what you are about to face is much worse than any fire breathing creature could ever be.

It is surely your own death.

And so there you are, sitting in the front row of your 3rd hour history class, waiting for your life to end.

Waiting for her to kill you.

You look, just look, at her the whole class period, your whole body tense and your hands trembling as you try desperately to write the notes you are supposed to be writing and instead you just scribble incoherently.

She doesn't glance at you a single time.

Not once.

The whole hour, not once do those fierce hazel eyes meet yours.

And so you continue to scribble.

And she continues to ignore you.

And you wait on pins and needles like you are waiting for the president to announce that the whole world is going to war.

Not until the bell rings and the rest of the class is gone from the room in a hazy blur of brand name shirts and cheap perfume does Terezi acknowledge you.

When you go to hug her when you meet in the doorway, she dodges you.

And that's how you know.

With a pat on the shoulder, she says in a tone that isn't like her, "Come find me after school, Karkles, we need to talk."

And that's how you know.

As she turns and makes her way to her next class(physics - you know her whole schedule by heart,) her hips sway in that way that has always mesmerized you and you are left feeling absolutely worthless.

And that's how you know you had been right all along.

Those four words.

"We need to talk."

The words that no one, under any circumstances, wants to hear from their significant other, ever, because no matter how they are delivered, they always bring the worst to mind.

Always.

Those words echoe over and over and over again in your mind the rest of the day.

They never go away, never stop torturing you.

They haunt you in English.

You write them over and over again in your notebook in Algebra.

When you fall in P.E. and just lay there face down on the floor while your teacher screams at you to "get your lazy rear of the effing floor," you swear you can see them written in the lines in the polished wood.

"We need to talk."

But you don't want to talk, you don't want to talk about anything, you don't want to ever hear what you have known you were going to hear since the very beginning of everything.

You aren't mentally prepared for it.

You don't think you could ever be prepared.

But still you go.

Still, you set yourself up for the end.

After the last bell, when she closes her locker door with a slam and looks you right in the eye, this time it's you who can't make eye contact.

Instead, you watch her lips form the words you can't hear over the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Unfortunately, you are pretty decent at reading lips.

"It's over, Karkat."

That's all you can make out, and that's all you can bear to.

Anything else would destroy you.

If you weren't already.

You can't tell.

Is this how being dumped is supposed to feel?

Like you have just had a spear shoved through your abdomen and you are slowly bleeding out onto the floor while the dumper just stands there and watches?

You can't move, you can't blink, you can't function anymore.

You forget to breathe.

You suck air noisily into your lungs and clutch at the fabric of your shirt near your heart.

Maybe you are having a heart attack.

You are definitely having a heart attack.

Terezi groans, exasperated, and lifts her backpack up off the floor, slinging it over her bony shoulder.

"Cut the shit, Karkat. This is exactly what I was talking about. Dramatics. Not being able to handle reality. I'm sorry, god knows I am, but I can't do this anymore, kid. I just can't. It was fun, but we need to move on and grow up."

And for the second time today, she turns and strides away, thin hips swaying, leaving you worthless, hopeless, less in every way in her wake.

You stumble back against her locker and slide down it, sitting on the floor in the middle of the now empty Junior hallway, digging the heels of your palms into your malfunctioning eyes(crying is not something that you are supposed to do, you are strong, you are brave, you don't cry. Crying is for babies.)

You tear off the extra layer of chain mail and throw it at the row of lockers across from you.

You lost her.

You lost Terezi Pyrope.

You lost the girl you love more than any overused phrase could ever portray.

But you had known that it was going to happen from the very beginning.

Because no matter what you do, it is impossible to tame a dragon like her.


	2. Failure To Stay Afloat

**> Be Sollux.**

Of all of the people you could encounter in the middle of the hallway, sitting against a locker and sniffling into his jeans, it had to be him.

Of all people, it had to be Karkat.

The person that you have tried to tell yourself over and over again that you don't want to see anymore.

That you don't want to know anymore.

That you don't want to be impossibly infatuated with anymore.

It had to be Karkat, looking like the saddest sack of shit you have ever seen in your life.

What a drama queen.

"Yo."

You drop your messenger bag at Karkat's feet, and raise an inquiring eyebrow (which is really just barely higher than your other because you have never quite gotten the hang of the whole "one eyebrow raise" thing.)

"What happened to you, shit-for-brains? You look like God just took a dump on your face."

Karkat furiously rubs the tears from his eyes with his fists like a toddler, and scowls up at you through red-rimmed, raw eyes.

"You know, no matter how many times you call me 'shit-for-brains,' it will never be an endearing nickname. So fucking stop."

You snort.

"And he did, for your information. God just dropped the biggest fucking load that he could muster right on my unsuspecting, gorgeous face," he continues, standing up again and attempting to collect himself.

"TZ break up with you?"

Karkat looks stunned.

And then suspicious.

This is not the situation you want to be in right now.

"What… how did you know?"

"She told me she was going to."

"And you didn't tell me?"

You groan, shoving Karkat against the lockers "playfully."

"Don't act like you didn't expect it, dickweed. Don't act like I'm the bad guy here."

"Well, I mean, I did, of course I expected it. But fuck dude! You're my 'best friend' remember, you're kind of supposed to tell me shit like that! That's not just something you stash in your wallet and forget about!"

"Right. Whatever."

Bullet dodged.

"Not whatever, give me a ride home to compensate for your miserable failure at being a best friend."

Bullet not dodged.

"No way dude, drive yourself home."

Karkat immediately bristles and his face goes red and shit, you think, he looks totally ridiculous when he's angry, which is always (except for when he's sulking and being a wuss.)

"Wow, okay, you know that I don't have a car, asshole! I missed the bus because my girlfriend of three years dumped me on my ass, it's the least you could do to be a decent god damn human being and drive me home! Let alone you know, comfort me instead of just standing there looking like the smug and condescending prick that you are! I swear to fuck you are the worst fucking piece of shit to ever have been birthed on this planet, I hate you so-"

"Dude, look, as much as I would like to sit here and listen to your long-winded empty insults, I have a math league contest in like ten minutes and I literally cannot take you home."

Obviously this was not the right thing to say.

He hits you right in the shoulder with his hilariously small fist, and gets right in your face.

Way too close to your face.

So close that it's unnerving.

So close that you feel things that you won't describe because one it's fucking embarrassing, and two, you won't admit that you are feeling them.

Things like that are forbidden.

You are not like that.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Captor? Are you serious? You are going to chose math league over your best friend who is currently a total heart broken train wreck and will probably go walk out into traffic-"

"You can wait until I'm done, or you can walk into traffic. You choose."

You shove him away with your shoulder, pick up your bag, and walk away, because god damn, Karkat is like a whiney five year-old.

Of course, he follows you.

Empty suicide threats are one of Karkat's specialties.

He's not happy about the situation, surprising as that is.

The day that you will be able to put a muzzle right over his insult-spewing mouth will be a good day.

"You are literally the worst."

"You are a fucking piece of work, you know that?"

"I hope you're pleased with yourself, you worthless piece of flesh."

"I hate you."

You are relieved when he has to stay outside the cafeteria to sulk while you take your test and you are free of him for 30 minutes.

You aren't relieved, however, when you realize that you, Sollux Captor, cannot focus on the math problems that are laid in front of you.

5 minutes in and you haven't answered a single question.

Nothing but your name has been scrawled onto the paper.

Because no matter what you do, the infuriating ball of teenage emotion outside of the double doors behind you will not leave your mind.

You cannot get Karkat out of your head.

It turns out that maybe you aren't so free of him after all.

You want to drive your mechanical pencil through your temple.

You want to know what happened to make you like this.

You want to know what went wrong inside of your brain to make you think of your best friend like this.

You do not, you will never, have romantic feelings for Karkat Vantas.

So why, why are you sitting with your chin resting in your palm, daydreaming like a 11 year old girl?

You have never found yourself attracted to someone of the same gender before, never in your 17 years of life has the thought even crossed your mind.

You're straight, you've been straight, and that hasn't changed.

You date girls.

You and Feferi dated for a year and a half.

Why are you feeling the same things you felt for Feferi towards him?

Something is wrong with you.

Something is wrong with you, this isn't right.

You are not like that.

He isn't like that.

Nothing could ever spark from these stupid fucking thoughts, even if you, for whatever farfetched reason, wanted it to.

Maybe you're sick.

You're probably just delirious, by morning it will go away.

At least, that's what you've been telling yourself for the past 5 months.

In the morning it will go away.

It never does.

The timer goes off.

30 minutes is up.

30 minutes you have wasted staring a blank answer sheet, having gay fantasies about your best friend of eight years.

You failed.

You are a failure.

You hate yourself.

You hate yourself even more than you hate him for doing this to you.

For ruining you.

You crumple up you entry sheet and toss it on the ground, leaving the cafeteria and passing Karkat without a word.

As you leave through the front doors of the school, you think maybe you'll be the one to walk out into traffic.


	3. Feelings Jam

**> Be Karkat.**

"Sol- SOLLUX! Yo, wait the fuck up, where do you think you're going? You can't just promise me a ride and then ditch me, numbnuts!"

You scramble to get off of the floor, (falling back onto your ass before making a more successful attempt,) and desperately try to catch up with Sollux's long-legged strides.

You grab the back of his shirt and pull him back towards you to slow him down to your pace.

You swallow the hollow insult waiting on your tongue when you see the somber look in his eyes.

You know that look too well.

Fuck, not now, not now of all times!

Why does this always happen?

"Dude, wh-"

"I bombed it."

He what?

No.

There's no way.

"I didn't get a single question right. Well, more like I didn't answer a single question."

Oh no.

This is bad, this is really, really bad.

When Sollux messes something up, like missing one problem on a quiz or screwing up a minecraft mod he's been working on (what a nerd,) he isn't the same for fucking days at a time.

He turns into more of a miserable sack of self loathing than he usually is, and who has to deal with him?

You.

Of course you have to put up with his shit now, when all you want to do is be a miserable sack of self loathing yourself.

But onnly one person can fill those shoes at a time, that's the unwritten rule.

Okay, you think, damage check.

"What happened, man? Did you just freeze up or what? I know you understood the questions, you always say they're like first grade level, it's pretty much impossible that you didn't so-"

"I am the most useless piece of shit to ever walk the earth. I can literally never do anything right."

He doesn't even give you an unnecessarily long, overly detailed explanation of just how badly he fucked up.

This is bad.

"Sollux, don't-"

"You were right, like always."

God damn it.

You need to get this situation under control.

Right fucking now.

"Jesus christ, Sollux, you know I don't mean shit like that!"

He unlocks the doors to Deuce's bulky pickup truck and climbs into the driver's seat without a word.

You groan and slam your fist against the car door before getting into the passenger seat after him.

You grab his jaw and force him to look you in the eyes.

"Look at me, you fucking idiot. I. Don't. Mean. It."

"Yes you do," he says through squished cheeks.

You grip his face harder and he squints in pain.

"Sollux, stop. I'm fucking serious."

Sollux pries your talons out of his skin and turns the key in the ignition, pulling out of the parking spot and once again resorting to being a douchebag and simply not responding to you.

"Dude, stop. It's just fucking 'Math League.' What even is that? Nothing is what it is, it's not for a grade, it doesn't count for anything. You just do it to show up the Freshman, I know you do. So what's the big deal? Why are you so fucking bummed about this? I think you're just being a drama queen."

It takes him a while to speak again and it makes you want to rip your hair out.

After the third stoplight you're unfortunate enough to stop at, he cracks.

"It's not even about that."

"I mean, come on dude, you're better at math than- wait, what? What? …It isn't?"

"No."

"What do you mean? …Sollux, dude, this isn't funny, talk to me! You don't care you didn't get a question right?"

"No," he repeats.

You run a hand through your untameable hair and sigh heavily through your nose.

"Who are you and what have you done with Sollux Captor? Jesus. Christ. Is today really the apocalypse? Was I not informed of this? Because shit won't stop getting weirder and weirder and I feel like I'm the only sane person left."

He doesn't even take the bait you all but waved in his face.

Sollux almost never lets a chance to call you an idiot pass him by, even when he's upset.

Shit is more than serious now.

"Sollux, seriously, talk, this is getting annoying."

"You can't stay quiet forever."

"Seriously, what is with you?"

"Sollux!"

You start feel like trying to pry information from him is a lost cause until he slowly pulls the truck into your driveway and the near eternity of silence finally breaks.

"I need to talk to you about something Karkat."

He still won't look at you.

The steering wheel must be way more interesting than your face.

You don't see it.

"That's what I've been trying to do this entire time, dipshit," you snap back, folding your arms across your chest, "But apparently you weren't interested, so my offer is now retracted. Therapy time is over, I'm done playing Dr. Phil, this was a one-time only thing. I'm out."

Just as you start to pull on the door handle, you feel Sollux's hand grab your forearm.

"I'm serious, Karkat, I need to talk to you."

"So fucking talk, dumbass."

Another pause.

Another awkward silence.

You swear the faint pinkness across Sollux's face and nose is a blush, but you can't tell for sure.

He cracks his knuckles the way he does before he gives a speech or starts a new project.

He used to do it a lot when he would talk to Feferi before the were dating.

It's a nervous habit of his.

What could he possibly be nervous about right now?

God damn, you've known him for 8 years, can't he trust you?

"Karkat, have you ever- Have you ever had feelings for someone you knew you shouldn't have feelings for?"

"Why, are you in love with a nun or something?"

"No, I-"

"Are you psycho-crushing on a half-vampire baby?"

"Karkat, no-"

"Do you have a crush on a dude?"

"No, I- I-"

"Holy shit, you do. You're gay."

"Fuck you, I'm not gay, you piece of shit! Well, I mean… God, you're making this way harder than it needs to be. Let me talk."

You snort and punch him more gently on the shoulder than he would to you.

"Alright, alright, I'm done, it's just you need to be the subject of the fucking incessant taunting sometimes too. See how fucking irritating it is? Yeah. Now, are you finally gonna tell me what's wrong with you?"

Sollux clears his throat.

Waits a few seconds.

Does it again.

And finally replies, "I have feelings for a dude."

"I fucking knew it!"

"I'm not gay, god damn it! That's not a thing! I'm not! I-"

"What do you call having feelings for a guy then?"

"Karkat, just shut up for a second! This is serious. I… Jesus fucking christ, what the hell am I doing?"

You roll your eyes at him and he grimaces.

"Karkat. That dude... that dude is you."

Those four words seem to do something to break time.

You're frozen, heart where your stomach should be, stomach twisted into knots so small it forces bile up into your throat.

He didn't…

He didn't just say what you think he did, did he?

No way, no fucking way did he just say that, Sollux isn't even like that.

You've never even considered that.

Surely he's just kidding right?

He really doesn't look like he's kidding.

You…

What are you supposed to do?

What the hell do you do in a situation like this?

Your best friend of eight years, the guy you grew up with, the guy who's always put up with you and the guy you've always had to put up with, has just confessed to having romantic feelings for you, and you do not share them.

At least, you think you don't.

No, you don't, you don't swing that way.

But…

For whatever reason, you can't flat out reject him.

You've always had no problem digging up insults that are meant to hurt him and calling him the worst names you can think of, but you can't do this.

Not after what happened today.

You won't make him feel the same way.

You can't do that to him.

All you can do is say, "Well. Fuck. I… I need time to think about this, Sollux," get out of the car without looking back, and go inside, leaving him sitting alone in the driveway.

You think about watching out the window after him to make sure he's okay, but ultimately decide against it because you don't think you could handle seeing the expression on his face.

You wait until you hear the sound of the truck driving away before you collapse into the couch and groan into a pillow.

You don't know what you can do to fix the hole you've just dug yourself, but you'll think about it like you told him you would, because when it comes down to it, he really is your best friend and you guess you really do care about him.

After you face Slick, you'll think about it.

You'll think about it.


	4. Bugging and Fussing and Meddling

**> Be Sollux**

You stare after Karkat as he bolts from your truck like a frightened squirrel and slams his front door behind him with unnecessary force.

Well.

Shit.

You guess that's better than nothing.

Despite his reaction to the bomb you just dropped on him, you're able to maintain your composure for most of the drive home (if having composure is considered biting down on your lip so hard you think you'll leave permanent indents.)

It's not as if you weren't expecting something like that.

Well, actually, you're kind of surprised he even considered it, "I'll think about it," is more than you ever expected to gain.

But for some reason, it's still disappointing, really disappointing.

You're only human, you'd be lying if you hadn't gotten your hopes up a little.

You really like him, in that fucked up way that you've developed over the months.

The feelings are genuine, as far as you can tell anyway.

As embarrassing as they are.

It's probably better that it went this way, right?

No point in rushing into something that's destined to fail.

This is Karkat's way of letting you down easy, this whole fiasco will probably never come up in conversation ever again, and you're okay with that.

You're okay that nothing is ever going to spawn from these feelings that you've been having.

That's what you tell yourself over and over again.

You're okay.

You're okay.

You're okay.

But you aren't, you aren't okay, you're probably the furthest from okay than you've ever been.

Halfway home, you pull over to the side of an almost empty street, and rest your head on steering wheel, much closer to the horn than you meant to.

An obtrusively loud honk resonates through the silent neighborhood.

You groan.

You don't cry - you have a firm belief that tears should be saved for funerals and funerals only and you aren't about to change that - but you do sulk for a good long while and maybe do a little dry sobbing and that makes you feel a little better.

You fucked up, you whisper to yourself.

You fucked up everything to do with him, you know you did.

He's never going to look at you the same way, never going to talk to you the same way because of a stupid slip of the tongue and you're going to lose your best friend/love interest/you don't even know what because of this.

You're going to lose Karkat and you're a total mess at the thought.

It's just mistake after mistake today.

You wonder if it could get any worse than this.

What more could you possibly do to completely screw yourself over?

Anything.

You need to calm down.

When the thought of texting your… what would you even consider him?

Your friend who isn't exactly your friend because he's a prick but is your best friend at the same time.

Yeah, you think, that describes him well enough.

When you contemplate texting him, you immediately shrug the idea off because you're fine, you don't need to talk to anyone.

But then you decide that leaving yourself to your own devices tonight probably wouldn't be one of your smartest moves.

You're gonna make a stupid fucking decision.

So you do anyway.

'hey be on pe2terchum when ii get home, ii have 2ome heavy 2hiit for you.'

You wait for the 'yeah ok sure' in response before straightening up in your seat, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, and continuing on your way, paying careful attention to stay on the less busy roads so you're not as inclined to crash into someone "on accident."

You have to let yourself into the house, struggling to get your key to work with the nearly broken lock (for which you can blame none other than Spades Slick,) because Deuce is still out doing whatever it is Deuce does.

He's been gone for 3 days now, which is not unusual for your dad.

He's probably off in another state buying an array of antique hats from sketchy strangers at a flea market.

Or illegally crafting explosives two hours away in the secret bunker under Droog's barn.

You'll go with the first scenario to make yourself feel better and as if a SWAT team might not show up at your doorstep at any moment.

Being the son of a member of the Midnight Crew is a tough gig but someone's gotta do it.

You grab a can of Mello Yello out of the fridge before throwing yourself down in the uncomfortable chair in front of your desktop and opening up Pesterchum.

Pesterchum, believe it or not, is a creation of your own that you guess you are pretty proud of and you guess you have bragging rights for.

It was a collaborative project yourself and your friend Dirk Strider took up in 6th grade just for shits and giggles, just to see if you could do it.

You thought it would be cool to create a simplistic chat client (sans all the useless bullshit like emoticons and 'nudging' because fuck that noise,) exclusively for your friends and that's exactly what you did.

It took a few months of course, being eleven year old kids fucking around with programming for the first time, but you managed, and even though not everyone is still friends at this point in your life, you all still use it mostly because it fucking rocks.

Your computer chimes and a chat window pops up,

 

**caligulasAquarium [CA] began pestering twinArmageddons [TA]**

CA: so about this heavvy shit

CA: wwhats wwrong wwith you noww you big baby

CA: karkat

CA: math league

CA: karkat and math league

TA: what make2 you thiink that?

CA: its always fuckin karkat dont even try you fuckin idiot an i threw in math league too because youre a huge fuckin geek thats wwhy

CA: wwhat happened this time

TA: whoa 2hiit don't try to act liike you know everythiing about me alright, ii'm not all black and whiite. ju2t becau2e ii'm up2et doe2n't mean it'2 automatiically karkat, ok. ii'm not that prediictable.

TA: al2o fuck math league, 2hiit2 for babiie2.

CA: wwell wwhat are you then if youre not black and wwhite

CA: let me guess

CA: blue and red

TA: exactly, 2ee you get iit.

TA: ii gue22 you could 2ay ii'm...

TA: ... .

TA: ... ...

TA: ... ... ..

TA: ... ... ... .

TA: ... ... ... ...

CA: are you gonna make the pun or wwhat

TA: ... ... ... ... ..

CA: i am gonna make you wwish you wwere nevver born

CA: make the joke

TA: ... ... ... ... ... .

CA: sol

TA: can't thiink of anythiing.

TA: too emotiionally iimpaiired.

CA: wwait

CA: did you make the periods increase by twwos

CA: you enourmous god damn nerd did you just sit there countin them out you cant be normal and just hold dowwn the button can you

TA: 2hut iit.

TA: but anyway, yeah iit wa2 karkat and for your iinformatiion ii'm pretty torn up about iit so ii'd rather not go iinto detaiil.

TA: cool?

TA: cool.

TA: glad we under2tand eachother.

CA: ok

CA: ok wwoww

CA: let me get this straight

CA: you text me an tell me to get on pesterchum so wwe can talk about the so called heavvy shit you got for me an then you decide haha nope not evven gonna say anythin not a fuckin thing just gonna tease ya eridan just gonna pretend like i got some juicy gossip so you go fuckin crazy

CA: let me ask you somethin

CA: are you retarded

TA: FUCK, okay, 2hut up let'2 not even 2tart thii2, ii've had enough bull2hiit biickeriing for one day, ii'm not gonna do thii2 agaiin.

TA: yeah, ii'm beiing stupiid, ii get that. iit's ju2t not really a thiing ii wanna admiit to.

TA: ii ju2t…

TA: ii fucked up really badly dude, ii fucked up.

CA: how badly are wwe talkin

CA: badly badly or just slightly more badly than usual

TA: fiir2t, fuck you and what ii2 probably your terriible grammar, ii can't even tell iif 'slightly more badly' ii2 even a proper thiing to 2ay or not riight now. (knowiing you iit'2 an abomiinatiion to the engliish language and you 2hould feel bad.)

TA: 2econd, ii kiinda told him.

TA: about everythiing.

TA: well not exactly everythiing becau2e he kiinda booked iit out of my car a2 fa2t a2 hii2 puny baby feet could take hiim.

TA: but ii told hiim about my stupiid feeliing2 toward2 hiim and ii shouldn't have.

TA: fuck.

CA: you did not

TA: ii diid.

CA: wwoww good fuckin job dumbshit wway to fuckin go

CA: you just made a huge fuckin mess out of evverythin

TA: yeah, wow, ii knew tryiing to talk to you about thii2 wa2 a mii2take.

TA: ii'm gonna go wallow iin 2elf-piity now siince you're gonna be of no help what2oever.

TA: peace out 2hiitlord.

CA: no stop

CA: wwait

CA: let me come ovver ill help you out and shit

CA: i can help take a load off

CA: make you feel real good

TA: that 2ound2 liike 2omethiing ii'm defiiniitely not iintere2ted iin, thank2 though. keep your weiird fanta2iie2 away from me.

CA: no seriously sol let me come over i havve just the cure for this its been so long since wwevve hung out i miss you

TA: knock iit off, you're gro22.

TA: ugh, FIINE, fiine, iif you mu2t. ii can't beliieve ii'm even con2ideriing thi2...

TA: don't expect me to be all hospiitable and plea2ant though.

TA: iif ii punch you riight iin the face iit's not my fault.

TA: beiing all up2et and all ii can't be held re2ponsiible for my actions.

CA: is that evven a thing you can be

CA: pleasant

CA: i wwasnt awware sollux captor could be anythin other than a grumpy tightass color my shit surprised

TA: 2eeiing as you ju2t glazed over the whole punchiing you iin the face thiing, ii'm goiing to take that a2 a green liight.

TA: door2 unlocked, ju2t come iin. ii'm iin my room.

TA: ii'll try not to kiill my2elf before you get here.

TA: no promii2e2 though.

TA: iif there'2 a pool of blood 2eepiing out from underneath my door ju2t go ahead and leave before the 2wat team get2 here and blame2 you.

CA: ill clean up after you if you absolutely cant help yourself because im such a great fuckin friend and everythin but really though wwait until i get there so i can wwatch

CA: ill be ovver in 5

CA: 3

TA: get that 2hiit out of here.

**caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased pestering twinArmageddons [TA]**


	5. Bloodied Porcelain

**> Be Karkat.**

Slick is home earlier than you expected.

A full 7 hours earlier.

"Kid," he grunts from behind you.

Ever so cautiously you turn around to meet his gaze.

His dead eye looks right through you the same way it always does.

A familiar chill runs down your spine.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

He loses his balance and falls into the wall for support.

He clutches a nearly empty bottle of whisky in his hand.

Drunk.

He's drunk already at almost five o'clock.

Just what you fucking need.

Today keeps getting better and better, you think.

This isn't going to end well for you.

What is he doing home now?

"What do you mean where have I been?"

Not the right response.

"Where the fuck-" He pounds his fist against the wall. "-have you been? Don't be coy with me, boy."

"I've been at school, dad."

"Until fucking five o'clock? Bullshit."

He stumbles forwards and you instinctively shrink back until you're pressed up against the window behind you.

He has you cornered.

You start to panic.

Here you go again.

"You weren't with her were you? What did I tell you, boy?"

He's so close you can smell this whisky on his breath so strongly that it makes your eyes water.

"No, I-"

"What did I tell you?"

"Not to hang around her. But I-"

His fist hits the window next to your head, not hard enough to shatter it, but enough to make the glass quake under the force.

Enough to get a point across.

He is not happy with you.

You don't think you've ever seen him like this before.

You'd be a liar if you said you weren't beginning to get really fucking scared.

He growls deep in the back of his throat.

"She's the enemy, kid, do you understand? You are fraternizing with the enemy and I will not fucking stand for it. I will not."

His breath is hot on your face and you can't bring yourself to make eye contact, not now.

His pale, blind eye makes you sick to your stomach.

"I will not have my fucking son fucking around with that bitch's fucking daughter, do you hear me?"

"Dad, I-"

"I SAID DO YOU HEAR ME?"

A fleck of spit gets in your eye and you wince.

You can't help the small whimper that escapes you.

"I-I-"

His grabs a fist full of your hair, tilting your head back so that you have no choice but to look at him.

Your head is slammed back against the window and his dead eye is repulsive, absolutely fucking repulsive.

You want to puke.

"No son of mine is going to fuck around with a slut like her, do you fucking understand?"

He's so close your noses are touching.

He smells disgusting.

He is disgusting.

He is horrible.

You hate him.

You hate his breath.

You hate his yellowing teeth.

You hate his split lip.

You hate his fingers in your hair.

You hate his graying beard.

You hate his voice.

You hate his scars.

You hate his stupid fucking fedora.

You hate the suit he never stops wearing.

You hate the way he treats you.

You hate the way he talks about Terezi.

Most of all, you hate his god damn fucking blind eye.

You spit in his face.

"I'm not your fucking son," you hiss.

And he hits you.

The next thing you know you're kneeling on the floor, clutching your eye as blood runs down your face from your nose and you're choking in air between sobs and you're shaking and through watery eyes you see Slick slowly backing away from you and repeating something over and over that you can't make out through your pain and the panic in your chest.

Your dad just punched you.

You blink the tears away and cringe and then he's gone and after a few more gasps for breath and general freaking out, you decide to hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the night to be alone like a dying dog.

You slink into your bathroom and lay down in your bathtub for no particular reason (it just feels like the thing to do) and hold one wet washcloth to your already swelling eye and another to your bleeding nose.

You lean your head back against the wall behind you even though you know you shouldn't and you can feel blood trickle down your throat and you don't care.

The taste of iron is strong and you don't care.

This is the first time your dad has ever dared to actually hit you.

You think maybe you're in shock.

Your hands are shaking.

Your entire body feels weak.

You choke on blood and it splatters onto the porcelain bottom of the tub.

You get out and run the water to wash the red down the drain and you decide to stay standing while you wait for your nosebleed to give up.

It's not until the entire washcloth is a deep maroon that it ceases.

You don't bother washing the already drying blood from your face.

You don't care.

Back in your room, you assess the damage in the full-length mirror you almost never use.

The place where Slick punched you is so tender that even lifting the cloth from it stings.

It's really swollen and very red.

And it is definitely going to bruise.

You'll have a black eye by morning.

You take the mirror down off the wall and turn it around so it faces away from you.

You don't want to look at yourself.

Instead, you try to get some sleep, but it's impossible to find a comfortable position and your head is pounding too uncomfortably for that to even be a slight possibility.

A few hours later, when Slick has sobered up a little and you still haven't slept, you can hear him talking on the phone in the hallway, presumably to Droog since he's the only person he ever talks to.

He was home early today because he got fired from his job at the factory.

He was drunk and devastated because he didn't know how he was going to support you anymore.

And seeing you and thinking about you being with Terezi, "that traitorous broad," made his bad mood even worse, and he just kind of lost control.

He sounds pretty worked up.

This is Slick's way of apologizing any time he fucks up.

He knows you can hear him.

You don't know if you forgive him.

You guess you understand.

But the pain around your eye makes you a little hesitant to just let it go.

He owes you a day off from school.

There's no way you are going on Monday.

Not with a black eye that you won't be able to explain to Sollux, because he'd know as soon as he'd see you.

And then he'd get mad and then Deuce would get mad and the Boxcars would get mad and it's way more trouble than you need to deal with right now.

You have enough shit on your plate as it is.

You think about texting Sollux.

You don't know what you would say, but you feel like you should say something.

But you can't bring yourself to do it.

You pull the covers over your head and bury your face in your pillow.

You are a shitty fucking person.

Rejecting your best friend and basically telling your adoptive father that you don't consider him your family.

You take it back.

You don't hate your dad.

Not as much as you hate yourself.

Or as much as you hate this blooming black eye on the left side of your face.

The same side as Slick's white eye.

Sleep never comes.


	6. Rain Water

**> Be Sollux**

Eridan has a really irritating habit of slamming doors in an unnecessarily loud fashion, either to “make an entrance” or just out ignorance and disrespect for other people’s property.  
Probably both, you think to yourself.  
You also think that thinking can’t really be directed to anyone but yourself and that makes you feel lonely for all of one second.  
If your shoddy lock on your front door wasn’t completely broken already, it surely is now.  
There’s a shout from downstairs but you don’t bother giving a reply, you know he’ll just come bursting into your room in a few seconds anyways.  
You look out the window instead.  
It apparently started raining a few minutes ago - the rain hits against the glass weakly and pitifully and it makes you feel miserable and even more cliché and like a brokenhearted middle schooler in a stupid movie than you already did.  
You prop your feet up on your desk and lean back in your computer chair picking at the hem of your shirt and your door slams open, the knob bouncing loudly off the wall.  
Eridan’s cologne smells like shit and there is a lot of it.  
“Get yer lazy ass up off that chair.”  
“Make me,” you grunt. “This lazy ass is practically fused to this chair.”  
“Alright, challenge accepted.”  
His smirk is audible.  
You hear his feet scuff against the carpet as he lunges for you and you raise a hand before he makes contact.  
You’re not dealing with this tonight.  
“Jesus, fine, cool the fuck down, fishbreath. If you say ‘challenge accepted’ one more fucking time I will end you.”  
You stand up as slowly as possible as you can just to mess with him.  
And then throw yourself down on your bed, flipping him off.  
“You’re a sad fuckin’ sight, McLispy.”  
He snorts and holds his arms out, backing away from you slightly with a bounce in his step and a shit eating grin on his face.  
“Look at this, eh? Who got rejected this time an’ who needs comfortin‘? Could it be Sollux freakin’ Captor? Never thought I’d see the day.”  
“Okay look, I didn’t get rejected, he said he’d ‘think about it’, and I never said I needed comforting did I? You were the one who forced your way into my home. I’d say you are the one desperate for comforting.”  
“Yeah okay, let’s shut up and watch a movie already.”  
“You’re quick to change the subject when the subject turns to you.”  
This time he flips you off, though he laughs at the same time.  
You guess you laugh a little too.  
You hoist yourself up off the bed and you can feel your misery in your muscles and in your lungs but you ignore it because you know if you focus on it, it will hurt more.  
Actually, you keep it in the back of your head because you’re sort of a masochist.  
You count that as ignoring it.  
You give him a shove and walk past him and out into the living room that never really sees any use except for when Eridan comes over.  
You don’t consider it a living room really, it’s more like room that only exists sometimes when you pay it attention which isn’t often and is kind of sad too.  
Getting sentimental over a room is stupid.  
Eridan kicks his dumb hipster loafers up on the coffee table and shrugs his blazer off, throwing it over the shoulder of the couch as if he owns it.  
“What do you have in mind, Captor?”  
You never call each other your first names.  
It’s kind of an unwritten rule.  
If you actually called him Eridan out loud you think the world would probably collapse into itself.  
Or he would look at you weirdly and you would both go on with your lives.  
“I’m feeling something Marvel-y. I’ll wash away my sorrows with some butts in tight spandex.”  
“Gay.”  
“Nothing wrong with a little butt ogling to brighten your spirits.”  
“Spider-Man, then?”  
You’re surprised he even knows that Spider-Man is a Marvel character.  
Impressive.  
“Spider-Man,” you confirm.  
He cracks his knuckles and then what sounds like his entire body and you wince.  
“I’m gonna go get something to drink,” and he’s up before you can even offer to get it for him, not that you would.  
“Yeah, make yourself at home…”  
You spend a good minute looking for the DVD which had fallen behind the TV somehow, and pop it in the DVD player.  
A “Hey, Sol?” comes from the kitchen and his tone makes you nervous.  
You wait for the rest.  
He was probably waiting for you to respond since he hesitates so long, but fuck that basically.  
Eventually, he continues.  
“Your dad’s never around right?”  
“Thanks for reminding me.”  
Another pause.  
“I’m taking a beer.”  
He’s totally unremorseful, as always.  
“Ampora, step away from the fridge.”  
“Come on, just one, I promise!”  
“I will not indulge your stupid fucking habits, just grab a soda and get your ass in here.”  
He comes back with the entire six-pack.  
“Are you shitting me, fish breath? Put it back, my dad will get pissed.”  
“Think of it this way,” he slings it over his shoulder, and leans against the doorway with an eyebrow raised. No one has ever looked as punchable to you. “If we drink all of it, your dad will forget he even had beer in the fridge because he’s your dad and we’re off the hook.”  
“I’m going to murder you.”  
“I’m doing it anyway,” he throws himself down on the opposite side of the couch from you and cracks a can open.  
This has probably been the most stressful day of your life.  
“I hope your liver fails,” you grumble as you open one too and take a sip because you’re a teenager and you‘d be a liar if you said you haven‘t done this before either.  
You have no intention of getting drunk, or even finishing a single can because you‘re an emotional drunk and you‘re emotional enough as it is (you wonder if your current state is even considered ‘emotional.’)  
You don’t know why you decide to do it really.  
Just because the opportunity is there, you suppose, just an impulse.  
Eridan chuckles as he dribbles a little beer down his chin and tries to smooth it over.  
You just press play on the DVD remote, not even gracing him with so much as an eye roll.  
An hour later, you’ve sunk so far down on the couch that your entire lower half is no longer touching the cushions and you haven’t paid any attention to the movie and Eridan has downed a total of 3 beers and is definitely drunk and is singing some shitty indie song you don’t know under his breath.  
You started thinking about Karkat while you just stared at your half empty can of teenage rebellion and now you want to go to sleep and never wake up unless you miraculously get everything you want when you do and you don’t even know if you want that honestly.  
You don’t know what you want and you don’t know what you expected of him.  
The “I’ll think about it” was a way of letting you down easy, and you see that now, and maybe you’ll be able to accept that once it stops hurting.  
Your lungs hurt.  
Your head hurts.  
Your everything huts.  
Eridan falls off the couch and spills what little of his 4th beer is left on the couch.  
You’ll clean it up later when you’re done loathing yourself.  
He says, “Let’s go outside,” and you say, “Are you fucking kidding, it’s pouring,” and he says, “No trust me, come on,” and then he’s tearing through the hallway faster than you’ve ever seen a drunk person move before.  
He’s already standing out in the middle of your backyard when you catch up to him, his head tilted towards the sky, the water screwing up his blonde streaked hair that would make him absolutely appalled if he were sober.  
He left the sliding door hanging wide open and he’s bound to catch a cold if he stayed out the too long.  
“Hey dipshit, get back in the house or I’m locking you out.” You flick the lock back and forth for emphasis.  
He refuses and makes desperate, clumsy hand motions that you think are his attempts to lure you out.  
“No.”  
More frantic arm waving.  
“Dude, no.”  
Then rushes towards you, almost slipping on the wet grass and mud, and grabs you by the arm with surprising strength and you’re soaking wet.  
Rain water gets in your eyes and your socks are drenched and cold and goose bumps are all over your body in places they shouldn’t be.  
You’re glad you left your phone on the table.  
It is way to cold to be outside right now.  
Eridan is just staring at you through his water droplet coated glasses as if waiting for something.  
He’s shivering violently.  
“Okay, play times over, we’re going back inside.”  
You turn to leave but he takes a hold of your shoulders and gives you a shake.  
“No!” He shouts much more loudly that is called for (intoxication at its finest.) He has a wild, almost furious look in his eyes. “You’re supposed to be getting something from this!”  
You blink.  
“What the hell,” is all you can manage.  
He makes a noise that sounds like a growl and a groan’s love baby and it‘s perturbing.  
His grip tightens.  
“You’re supposed to feel ALIVE, Sol! You’re supposed to feel alive and like there’s more to life than sitting around and sulking like a wuss! Do you feel it? You can feel the rain, can’t you? You feel cold? You feel awake? You feel irritated with me? You feel shit other than fucking sad?”  
“Where are you going with this?”  
“I’m saying there’s more to life than being upset about being rejected, asshole! I mean look at me!” He points to himself and shakes his head and paces around and you really wonder just how drunk he is. “I’ve, I’ve been rejected more times than I can keep track of at this point, but I keep going, for my own good! You know why? Because I have other shit to do. I have other people to meet. There’s someone out there who will settle for me. Maybe Karkat isn’t interested, so what? You’ve gotten girls before, you’ve probably gotten laid before who knows, you can do without. You don‘t need him.”  
You stare at him.  
Just who does he think he is?  
“This is not entirely about-”  
“Just get on with your life already, and stop acting like such a fucking loser all the time, god damn it. Grow a pair.”  
You remove his hands from your shoulders and walk back inside, kicking off your shoes on the mat, and then you go into your room and lock the door behind you.  
You strip down to your boxers which are drenched too but you can’t be bothered to change them and lay face down over the covers.  
You tell yourself it’s just the rain on your skin that makes your pillow case wet.  
The sliding door slams shuts downstairs.  
Yes Eridan, you think as the rain water falls from your eyes and down your cheeks, I am alive, but I don’t want to be.  
You hear him vomiting in the bathroom.


End file.
